Two posts in one day??? How dare I! But ya know, so very often during depression the words are not there so when they come to you, even in a flood, you gotta get it out of your system. No one’s got a gun to your head, don’t read it if you don’t want to.
This week has sucked ass. There is no nicer way to put it. I’m battling menstrual dysphoria (which if you are unfamiliar means my hormones are soaring like those of a pregnant woman, one minute pouring tears, the next unbridled anger for unknown reasons) and depressive inertia, crippling anxiety…
It took 36 hours to get the slumlord’s guys to fix the shower. I NEVER want to hear running water again. Which sucks cos I used to find the sound of babbling brooks, rainstorms, ocean waves, soothing. But a shower you can’t shut off for two days right next to your bedroom….Maddening. And it was only with R’s assistance I got the ass trashers here. The landlord tends to treat me like an hysterical drama llama (and sometimes I can be, especially during monthly dysphoric bouts) but I rarely ever ask for repairs so if I am calling…It means something is very wrong.
Frankly, the bigger issues were my own sensitivity to all sound but considering not once in 8 years have I paid rent late or had cops called or caused any problem at all…yet my rare requests for repairs are completely ignored and it feels disrespectful. He pays the water bill, so letting the problem go for two days, I hope his water bill is the same amount as it costs to fill an olympic sized swimming pool. (Which, coincidentally, was what R said to goad the repairmen to get over here as he had tried to fix it and even he couldn’t figure it out.)
That debacle had me a nervous wreck as I sat home an entire day waiting for them to show as promised and they never did. A day R wanted me at the shop and was going to buy me cigarettes but no, the slumlord screwed me over on that so I was left without smokes and breaking out in hives from anxiety.
Then 4 out 5 mornings have been war with my child. Over hair brushing. Over eating breakfast. Over her accusing me of making her late for school when it was only 7:15 and the school doors weren’t even opened yet. A month ago, she said she didn’t want to be there early for the leadership meetings. Now apparently, they play “good music” to pep the kids up and she wants to be there earlier. Did she tell me this up front? No, she just went off on a screaming tissy.
And by day four of her tantrums and my hormonal coping mechanisms being subpar (and possibly part of the problem, bitter as that pill is too swallow) I ended up at the shop begging R to intercede with the landlord to get the water thing shut off and fixed and I was in tears. Again. And I try to shut them off, I do the breathing exercises, I bully myself mentally…Hormones give zero fucks.
Week from hell.
And being so off kilter in every way, I was thrown for a loop when my nephew and his gf popped by for a surprise visit the other night. And all I can think is, how bad does the place smell since I can’t afford cat litter…Is he gonna run back to my evil mother and tell her how my clutter is unfit for my kid to live in? And no, it’s not paranoia, that is how my family operates. They are treacherous and judgmental. Never mind my nephew grew up in a house where they made meth for a while, or where even today pot sales go down. My sister keeps it spotless thus it is a fit home whereas unfolded laundry, clutter, and dust make me satan.
My mom has said as much to my face.
She forgets how we grew up, in a house with bare wood floors sinking in, no sink in the bathroom to wash hands or brush our teeth, rooms disconnected from the heating so we had to get dressed under blankets in the living room by the kerosene heater…How occasionally the power got cut or the phone cos she bounced checks…She likes to rewrite history. I don’t know if she is even aware she does it. Most people do it and likely don’t know they are doing it.
I don’t think I rewrite history for if I did…I would cut out all the shit parts and make it more bucolic instead of facing just how imperfect my childhood and my parents were.
Even now…I have R saying shit like, “How can a useless piece of shit like (his ex gf who is on disability but has no kids) afford a nice house and you live like “this”?”
Do I wish the place would be repaired properly? Sure. But the fact is, I LIKE it here. This is my home, it is the only home my kid has ever known. I am comfortable and feel safe here. Why does everyone seem to consider this irrelevant? Sure, a nice house with a landlord who makes timely repairs would be awesome. But on limited income, a 3 bedroom two full bath trailer where I can have my cats and afford it…Well, it is what it is and I wish people would stop pointing out the flaws and appreciate that finally…I have found a place where I feel safe. Most places I’ve lived I’ve always felt threatened in some way. Here…I don’t.
Even though the thieving meth dealing ass trashers next door were outside hollering the other day about “how that bitch next door has a gazillion cats but my dog isn’t allowed to bark.”
Hmm, my cats don’t bark right next to your bedroom window for hours on end like your dog does next to my kid’s bedroom. Every other person out here has a dog and NONE of them spend their entire time outdoors barking endlessly for no reason. So yeah, I yell for the dog to shut up and ya know, they do the same damned thing themselves. I guess dog people living next to a cat person is toxic.
Or they could just have trained their dog better instead of letting it turn into a feral bark box that terrifies the kids who have to walk by to go play.
Now I live in fear the mouthy bitch is gonna kill my cats or slit my tires or turn me into DCF…Panxiety knows no logic. And face it…people often do equal shit, tis not just a Slipknot song.
So now the shower is fixed, we have a weekend to not wake at the crack of ass, and maybe I can breathe as the hormones return to normal balance.
I did strip a TV down for R because I needed smoke money and cat litter and paper towels so he gave me his credit card to get stuff. Instead, it all went to get my kid a new pair of shoes as she destroyed two pairs of sixty dollar Twinkle Toes a beloved (and much missed) friend bought her back in August. I will punch anyone who dares say I don’t put my kid first.
Less interesting to most, yet I find it quite educational and also a pathetic statement about the companies that manufacture LCD and LED TV’s…I wanted to show you what those much loved flat panels are basically made of inside. And it took me two hours and multiple screwdrivers and sixty plus screws to strip it down to the three parts R could actually use off it. So if you have a flat panel LCD or LED TV…This is what you paid for on the inside.
Yep. Three to a thousand bucks for a few flimsy sheets of plastic, paper, screen, and maybe six actual parts that make it fire up. Boring perhaps, but since I started hanging out with R and doing these strip jobs of televisions to get what I need for my kid and such…I find it quite educational. As in, my god people are fucking stupid to pay so much for such pieces of poorly made crap.
Anyway…I have reached the end of my rant. If you held on this long…Spork of fortitude for you. I just needed the mental purge.